Into the Night
by Gariedryn
Summary: A retelling/re-imagining of the very first RE game, also incorporating elements from RE3. Originally a writing assignment for 11th grade English back in 2001, the story was expanded and re-worked but still remains for me a fun and nostalgic early work.
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue: The disappearance of the Bravo Team**_

_July 23, 1998_

The first S.T.A.R.S. detachment to enter the Arklay Mountains was the Bravo Team. Equipped mostly with tasers and tranquilizer darts, they were to find the nests of the so-called "monsters" and, if necessary, eliminate them. Chief Brian Irons of the Raccoon Police Department had been in a grumpy mood ever since the sightings, and blamed the recent gruesome incidents on three things: the mayor's incompetence, rabies, and reckless hikers. He was, however, forced to reconsider his position when radio contact with Bravo Team was lost and none of the officers returned by sundown.

Chief Iron's last resort was to send in the Alpha Team on a search and rescue mission. Since the "monsters" were supposedly active at night, the Alpha Team was issued suitable weaponry; in addition to their customary handgun, two officers carried shotguns, and in addition to their navy-blue shit, black pants and steel-capped boots, all were required to wear a protective vest.

The team comprised five members: the Captain, Albert Wesker, was a tall, blonde-haired man who was known for his strange habit of always wearing sunglasses, even at night. Instead of the standard Beretta nine-millimetre calibre handgun, he carried a Desert Eagle, a powerful handgun commonly dubbed as a "hand cannon", which had some of his subordinates call him a show-off behind his back. Wesker's competence however, had never been in question.

Barry Burton, a large, bearded man, was the team's weapons expert. Despite his gruff appearance, he cared immensely for his comrades and also for his wife and two daughters. He commonly used a Magnum Colt Python as his personal sidearm, a weapon as powerful as Wesker's.

The team's sniper was Joseph Frost, a tall and slender man with brown hair. He was generally quiet and mild-mannered, but was nevertheless a formidable marksman. He was one of the two officers carrying a shotgun.

The second shotgun had been assigned to Chris Redfield, one of the team's youngest recruits. Redfield was tall, muscular, had brown hair and a self-described good sense of humor, which mostly amounted to out-of place, inappropriate comments.

The last officer on the team was Jill Valentine, also a young recruit. She had a slender framed that belied a surprising resiliency, and long brown hair, which she concealed under a beret. Valentine was highly intelligent and skilled, and Wesker sometimes referred to her as his best officer, which no one seemed to take offence to as she was indeed gifted by any standards.

Night had fallen since about an hour when the five S.T.A.R.S. officers set foot on the trail that led through the forest and up the mountains, to the horrors that resided deep within…


	2. Chapter 2

_**Part One: The Chase**_

_Arklay__ Mountains, July 23, 1998, 10:25 PM_

The five S.T.A.R.S. elite members had been walking uneventfully through the woods for more than a half-hour. Their nightmare began when one of them, Joseph Frost, had to stop for a natural need. He left the trail, went deeper into the woods until he was sure to be out of sight. He was about to unzip his pants when he saw two small yellow eyes staring at him trough the trees. His blood ran cold. He had been briefed by Captain Wesker and knew about the monsters that were presumed to haunt the mountains. Besides, hadn't the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team vanished in the area mere hours ago? He desperately tried to remember his training and did his best to remain calm. Thankful that his bandanna kept his hair and especially the sweat out of his eyes, he slowly reached for the shotgun in his back holster and retrieved it. Carefully, he aimed for the menacing yellow eyes; his finger curled around the trigger... Then he heard a scurrying sound as the eyes vanished. He exhaled a breath of relief and put his gun back into its holster. It was only a rodent of some kind, whose eyes had reflected the moonlight! Joseph unzipped his pants and did his business, smiling at his own stupidity. He had finished and was zipping back his pants when he heard a faint growl behind himself. He grinned in the moonlit darkness. Just another lousy animal, he thought, probably a fox or something. He turned around to leave and saw two rows of long, jagged fangs plunging towards his face. Then he saw nothing.

"What's taking him so long?" asked Jill Valentine, "I hope he isn't lost or something".

"Naw", answered Barry Burton with a good-natured handwave, "That wouldn't never happen. Joseph's got a good sense of directions. 'Sides, did you ever see someone gettin' lost 'cause they left the trail to go piss in the woods?" They waited in silence for a few moments. And then:

"Do any of you hear somethin'?" asked Barry. Jill turned towards him inquisitively:

"What is it, Barry?" Barry glanced quickly at the woods before answering:

"I...I dunno, but it sounded like... like some kind of wolf… you know… howling". Albert Wesker turned towards him:

"Calm down, Barry. If there really are any monsters in the Arklay Mountains, we'll be quick to dispatch them. That's what we're here for, aside from finding our missing people".

"Or what's left of them" added Chris Redfield ironically; no one laughed.

"It's taking too long," said Jill nervously, "Something's not right".

"Joseph?" Chris cried out. No answer. Wesker stroked his hand through his greasy hair and turned to the other team members:

"I don't like this", he said, "But we're gonna have to go look for him." The four of them got up from the log on which they had sat, and reached for their flashlights.

"Holy shit! I found him! Jill! Chris! Captain Wesker!" They all rushed around Barry who was holding his flashlight with a trembling hand, and saw what he had found. Jill couldn't retain a cry of horror; Chris looked with mixed disgust and disbelief; Wesker's face remained expressionless, his eyes concealed behind his dark glasses. The thing lying on the ground amidst the tall grass looked more like a bloody piece of meat than a human corpse. The head had been virtually crushed in half, one arm had been ripped off the body and nearly everything else had been mauled beyond recognition. The only thing that remained to prove that this lump of flesh, blood and bones was once a man named Joseph Frost was the torn and bloodstained S.T.A.R.S. uniform that covered it.

"Hell", muttered Chris. He turned to Wesker: "What do we do now, Captain?" Before Wesker could reply, however, a distant growl was heard, then a howl, followed by the sound of some large animal running through the woods, running towards them.

"Shit!" muttered Wesker, "Whatever it was that got Joseph, it's coming back here. Everyone head back for the trail, now!" In a few seconds they emerged from the forest and were back on the trail, but now there were growling and running sounds coming from the woods on either side of them.

"Looks like there is more than one," said Jill, trying to keep her voice calm.

"A lot more… Seems we'll just have to face them," replied Wesker in his usual cool tone. Barry and Wesker reached for their handguns, while Chris upholstered his shotgun and Jill her Beretta pistol. "If the odds are against us," Wesker continued, "Stand ready to retreat, but whatever you do, stay on that trail, understood?" Now the growling sounds were very close and seemed to come from all directions at once. Suddenly half a dozen shadows burst out of the woods onto the trail, right behind them.

"Run!" yelled Wesker. They all ran, following the trail, not knowing where it would lead. They just ran, dashed blindly. The forest echoed with gunfire as Chris fired a couple of haphazard shots, hoping to scare the creatures. Finally, the trail led to a large clearing, revealing a huge, ancient-looking mansion seemingly straight out of the Victorian age.

"Quick, to that mansion!" ordered Wesker, "Secure the entrance! We'll hold our ground from there!" The five officers climbed the short staircase that led to the large, wooden double doors. As the rest of the team assembled in front of the doors, turning to aim their guns at the creatures behind them, Wesker grasped the doorknob, turned it, and pushed forward. Surprisingly enough, the door creaked open. "Inside, quickly!" he called. The team got in and at that instant, the pursuing creatures froze in their tracks, the moonlight revealing their bony, balding bodies, lifeless yellow eyes, and jagged fangs. Then, as if beckoned by an invisible force, the mad dogs let out an ear-piercing howl in unison before retreating to the blackness of the forest. Then Wesker slammed the heavy, elaborate wooden door shut, and the team looked around at what they hoped would be a safe haven.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Part Two: The Residence of Evil**_

_Arklay Mansion (Main Hall), July 23, 1998, 10:36 PM_

A gigantic electric chandelier that hanged from the ceiling brightly lit the main hall of the mansion. In the middle of the place was a gigantic, carpet-covered staircase, which led to the second floor some twenty feet above.

"This is the Arklay Mansion," explained Wesker. "It was supposedly abandoned a few years ago when its owner died, allegedly in mysterious circumstances." Jill looked at the chandelier:

"If it's abandoned, then how come the electricity still works? And why hasn't the place been boarded up? It almost feels as if all of this was set up to welcome us." The young officer rubbed her arms, shivering despite the summer heat before she forced herself to put a hand on her hip and the other on her pistol holster; no use showing unease, no matter how dire the situation.

"I don't know," answered Wesker, "But you're right, Jill, this is quite irregular. I wouldn't be surprised if there was anything in this mansion connected to the recent disturbances in the area… perhaps this mansion is in fact the very source of our troubles."

Suddenly a distant gunshot was heard, followed by a muffled scream. "What was that?" asked Chris with a worried look. Wesker let out a breath that could have been either anxiety or annoyance. It was hard to tell, with his constant neutral expression. And then, what was perhaps an attempt at sarcasm:

"I'm not really sure I want to know. Jill and Barry, would you go check on it? Chris and I will stay here in case something else happens." Jill and Barry nodded, and walked to a set of large red doors on the far left side of the main hall, from beyond which the gunshot and scream had seemed to come from.

The dining room was not as large as the main hall but still was fairly spacious. Jill and Barry made their way alongside the great banquet table occupying the center of the room. The regular tic-tack of a grandfather clock and Jill and Barry's footsteps were the only thing that broke the silence.

"What the hell is that?" Barry had reached the far end of the dining room and was examining something on the marble floor.

"What did you find, Barry?"

"Blood, but it doesn't look too fresh" Jill saw the dark, rust-coloured puddle on the floor and gasped; it reminded her of Joseph's dismantled and bloody corpse. Barry pointed at the plain, wooden door on her right, which lay slightly ajar: "Jill, would you go and see if you can get any other clues? I'll be taking a sample of this." Jill nodded and walked to the door.

Jill was now in a narrow, dark corridor; small electric lanterns on the walls provided dim lighting. She followed the corridor until she saw two doors, one on her left and one on her right. She tried the left one, which bore the carving of a sword, but it was locked. She then turned to the right one, which was unlocked; she'd pick the lock of the "sword door" later, she figured. Jill opened the unlocked door and entered a small bedroom. There was a light switch by the doorway, which she flicked; a dusty, slightly flickering light bulb on the ceiling was the only source of light in that room. Aside from that, a bed, a desk, and a half-opened closet door, beyond which were a few dress shirts on a hanger. _This place is obviously_ _not as abandoned as it seems_, thought Jill, although at a quick glance there seemed to be nothing in the room related to the gunshot. She was about to leave when she spotted a thick, black leather-bound book at the edge of the desk, as if someone had carelessly tossed it there. She went to the desk, picked up the book and opened it. It appeared to be a kind of diary or logbook, though the sheer size of it made it seem more like a novel. Clearly the person who wrote it had kept an extremely, almost obsessively meticulous account of much of the last year. Jill flipped the pages and even though she knew it was hardly the time or the place, she looked at the last few entries to satisfy her curiosity:

_May 9, 1998_

_Getting bored. The work is fascinating of course, and this is the opportunity of a lifetime. Or so I keep telling myself… I should consider myself lucky to have gotten this position, but I just can't seem to relate to the other guys; Scott is okay I suppose, but he's so lacking in confidence that he once apologized when I tried to say hello! How does a guy like that end up here of all places? And Steve… Steve's part of security, so he's one of those loudmouth braggart types I just can't stand. And yet these guys are all the company I've got for now, so I'll have to make do with them. At least they can play poker, although I strongly suspect Steve's "lucky streak" in yesterday's game was actually a cheating streak. Fucker. _

_May 10, 1998 _

_Today the chief researcher had me look after one of our new pets, which… well, it was unlike any of the ones we've had before. I heard the big cheeses call it a "hunter" Apparently the hunter had to be fed live food for "testing", and I was put in charge of lowering the food cage. I suppose it was kind of an honour to be involved with the higher-ups' brand new project, but… if anyone ever reads this, this will either make me sound like a horrible person or a world-class geek. Or both; I didn't actually see much of what happened when we let that poor pig out in the hunter's sector, however I had a flashback to that scene in Jurassic Park when they put a cow in the raptor's pen. Except that we heard the pig squeal for the better part of an hour before it stopped; looks like this new guy liked to play rather than hunt…_

_May 11, 1998_

_I suppose I might as well write since I'm apparently not sleeping for a while… it's currently just a bit before six in the morning, and about an hour ago Scott just rushed into my room wearing one of those hazmat suits on steroids we keep in the employee quarters in case of outbreaks. Apparently there's been an "incident" in the lab, and so I'm stuck in one of those too now; hopefully my writing will still be decipherable even with those annoying rubber gloves preventing me from even holding a pen properly. Clearly this is a fuck-up from the big cheeses, but of course they'll blame it on the new guys and it's us who'll have to clean up, as usual. Well, I suppose I should stop bitching and get to it… Seems like I've got one hell of a long day ahead._

_May 12, 1998_

_This is ridiculous; I've been stuck in this damn hazard suit for more than 24 hours now; can't sleep with this thing on, it doesn't let the skin breathe at all and makes me itch all over, and I can't even scratch myself with those shitty rubber gloves. The chief came by, also wearing one of these suits, and said they'd be taking care of this, to resume lab work as normal. No word on the nature of the incident, no indication as to when it's going to be resolved. Damn them! Again I probably shouldn't complain for what they're paying me, but still this makes me reconsider the wisdom of taking this job. Out of spite I didn't feed those dogs today; it feels childish to resort to passive-aggressive antics like that but I'm past caring. That and I fucking hate dogs._

_May 13, 1998_

_Had to go the med room today, there's a particularly itchy rash on my back that's been growing since yesterday. Thankfully the doc had me take off the damn suit to examine me, and even though I have always disliked physical examinations, it was well worth it to be rid of the suit. Amazingly the doc simply applied some calamine-type ointment and bandaged my back, no antibiotics or allergy medicine or even any tests, which I found unusual for this place. Well, he probably just used common sense and figured the hazard suit as being the cause, which is great because apparently I also don't have to wear the suit anymore, which is an immense relief; I also got a week off due to symptoms of "exhaustion", and so as soon as I finish writing this line I am going off to sleep for a good long while._

_May 14, 1998_

_I slept for a good twelve hours, but I still feel tired; probably because I overslept. Hopefully I'll be able to settle into a sensible sleep pattern in the next few days. Also, it looks like the rash has spread to my foot; I should probably follow normal procedure and get that checked as well, however I'm perfectly capable of applying calamine and band-aids on my own. I just hope I don't rash all over from having worn the damn hazard suit. Even though I'm technically off-duty I figured I'd make it up to the dogs since I'm in a (relatively) better mood, but they were unusually quiet even as I put food into their sector. So quiet in fact that we were unable to make a head count. I still don't understand why we still have to work with stone-age technology in a facility this advanced; would it have cost that much to have heat sensors or radar imagery in those holding pens? I sure hope none of those damn dogs have escaped, or I can kiss my career here goodbye… which, thinking about it, wouldn't be ALL bad._

_May 15, 1998_

_I feel like shit. Already this morning I felt kind of sick but I figured I'd cheer myself up by taking advantage of my second day off and go out in town to see Nancy. But then Steve of all people stops me on my way out, telling me that the company has temporarily suspended all travel outside the facility grounds. Even external phone calls are prohibited! I know to breach safety protocols would amount to career suicide, but this is outrageous, unreasonable, and unacceptable! I can't possibly put in written form how fucking pissed I am, except to say that I will hand in my resignation as soon as I can successfully apply somewhere else._

_May 16, 1998_

_I should have never accepted this job, no matter how good the pay was. I've been the biggest idiot in the world! Big shot company hiring me fresh out of university? Sounded too good to be true? That's because it WAS! Rumours are going around that there was another guy yesterday, who actually tried to leave the facility despite having been refused permission, and was shot dead! Surely this is just a stupid rumour started by an especially disgruntled worker. I tried to get ahold of Steve to confirm it, but as I write this he's apparently in a meeting and the other security guy I talked to told me with a straight face that he was not at liberty to discuss the matter. It must be just a bad joke. Maybe I'm just failing to see through it because of the fever that's kept me up throughout the night; I feel itchy all over, almost like if I was back in that god damned suit. I want to go to the med room but I'm afraid to… Just now I was scratching at a new rash on my arm and a piece of flesh just fell off, with pus seeping from the wound. I think I know now why the doc told me I didn't have to wear the suit anymore. Oh God, I hope I'm wrong. Let me be wrong. I can't go see the doc; what if they decide to put me in "indefinite quarantine", or worse? I'll just have to stay holed up in here till the end of my week off, and hopefully get better. Hopefully. _

_May 18, 1998_

_Think fever gone feel itchy though_

_Hungry, was dog food in lab supply_

_Scratch itch more skin fall. Tasty_

_Scott came. Scratched skin on his face like my arm._

_Much tasty, hope Steve come too_

_9._

_Itchy._

_Tasty._

Jill closed the diary and just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out was that was all about. She would have dismissed the diary as some attempt at a horror novel, had it not been for the chilling references to dogs. Starved, feral dogs; an unwelcome flash of Joseph's remains came to mind, and Jill steeled herself against a sudden, roiling wave of nausea. All about this place seemed very wrong, and after having read the diary this small office made her feel ill at ease. She turned to leave the bedroom, but suddenly, with a loud crashing noise, the closet door burst open and a pale man in a white lab overcoat got out and stumbled towards Jill, dragging his feet, arms outstretched in front of him. Jill's first instinct was to jump back, which she did. Then she immediately noticed that the man's coat, hands and mouth were covered in what looked to be dried blood, and that there was a prominent wound on his chest. _That man has been shot_, thought Jill in horror. As he walked slowly towards her, he opened his mouth and revealed two rows of jagged, yellow and bloodstained teeth. Only then did Jill notice the stench of putrefaction emanating from the man. She quickly removed her Beretta pistol from its holster and aimed it towards him. "Freeze!" she ordered. The man ignored her and continued to walk slowly towards her, arms outstretched, like a zombie. She glanced at the man's yellow, lifeless eyes, at his pale, bloody face, at his jagged, bloodstained, rotting teeth. _That thing's not human_, she thought, half trying to convince herself. Despite all of her training, despite standard police procedures, she didn't feel like she could shoot at another human. _It cannot be human_. She took a deep breath, and then she fired. One, two, three times. The pale-faced zombie staggered back under the impact of the bullets in his chest, in _its_ chest, and then half-lurched, half-stumbled forward. Jill barely had time to take a step back before the thing toppled face down on the floor, right at her feet. She quickly back-pedaled to the doorway; the zombie was not dead yet. It was crawling towards her, its jaws snapping. Jill fired one more time, into its head. The bullet pierced the thing's cranium, sending skull and brain fragments flying. It moaned one last time and then stopped moving. Jill dropped her gun and slumped to the floor, physically and emotionally exhausted.

"Shit, Jill! What the hell is that?" asked Barry, looking at the corpse of the zombie with a disgusted grimace.

"I don't know, I was just going to leave that bedroom when that... that thing came busting out of the closet."

"Well, the important thing is that you're okay. Hell, I just heard the gunfire and thought you were in trouble. When I rushed here and saw you lying on the floor, I almost thought you were dead."

"I'll be okay," said Jill wearily. "Let's just say I had the scare of my life." She slowly got up from the floor, picked up her gun with a trembling hand, and put it back in its holster.

"Would I be right to assume," asked Barry in the most even tone he could muster, "that this thing is related to the gunshot we heard from the main hall?"

"Well, I did find some sort of a diary which could tell us more about this place." Barry nodded, and then seemed to think about something for a few seconds. Silently, he entered the bedroom, careful not to step on the zombie's corpse. Then he went to the closet and looked inside, and immediately wished he hadn't:

"Holy Fucking Christ!" he muttered. "Jill, we've got to report this to Captain Wesker!"

"Chris! Captain Wesker!" Barry looked at Jill. She seemed to be even more worried than he was; the cavernous main hall was now empty, with no trace of either Chris or Wesker, and yet no sign of anything having broken in, or any violence having taken place.

"This ain't good," he said nervously, "Where could they be?" Jill didn't answer. She was still seeing flashes Joseph's dismembered body and the living corpse lurching toward her.

"God damn it, get a hold of yourself Jill! I don't think I'll be able to keep my composure if you disappear on me too!"

"I told you I'll be fine, I'm just as worried about Chris and Wesker as you are." Barry tried his best to comfort her:

"Don't worry; they'll be quite all right." He wasn't so sure however, and truth be told he could have made with some reassurance himself.

Jill carefully made her way through the hallway, gun in hand. She and Barry had decided to split up to search for Chris and Wesker. She was now in the east wing of the mansion, while Barry had decided to go back to the hallway near the dining room to see if he could discover something interesting. She walked slowly, afraid to bump into another zombie creature and mentally questioning the wisdom of their decision; sure, they could cover more ground more quickly by splitting up, but this also put them at an enormous tactical disadvantage in case of any… encounter. In truth, Jill believed Barry's proposal to go their separate ways had been motivated partly by bravado and partly by reckless desperation. Not that she had had much better judgment, going along with the plan. Without Captain Wesker it seemed everything just fell apart. But then things had begun falling apart the moment Joseph had been… Another gruesome flash, another wave of nausea. Jill forced herself to think of something else, to focus; she had passed several large windows, but the mansion's shadow obscured the moonlight so it was pitch black outside. With no one to back her up Jill needed to be more alert than ever, in case _something_ should emerge from the surrounding darkness.

Suddenly, one of the windows right in front of her shattered to pieces as one of the dog-like creatures from before crashed trough and landed in the middle the hallway. Jill's blood froze but was quick to recover from her shock and trained her weapon on the dog. The beast growled at her and bared its fangs, ready to attack. Then it leapt at Jill, seemingly ready to tear her apart like Joseph. Another unwanted flash, but there was no time to feel sick now. Jill fired one carefully-aimed shot; the dog was blasted out of the air and fell heavily on the marble floor. It quickly got back up and bared its fangs, ready to try again. Jill fired a second shot; the beast was thrown back on the floor by the impact of the bullet but still growled and tried to get back up. A third shot and the dog fell, a pool of dark red blood spreading from under its still-twitching body. Jill put a fourth round in the thing, this time in the head, and advanced cautiously towards the now-lifeless dog to examine it more closely. This was without a doubt one of the creatures that had chased her and her teammates through the woods. It had extremely thin and patchy fur, and its skin seemed to be in an early state of decomposition. Its eyes were a deathly yellow glaze, and jagged fangs. Jill looked more closely and saw something was stuck one of the dog's blood stained fangs; it was a piece of blue fabric. Jill knew that fabric very well, for it was a piece of a S.T.A.R.S. uniform. Now Jill felt sick to her core, even though there was still no time for it; more of the things could come in from that shattered window, or from any window for that matter. But despite struggling to control her roiling stomach the young officer fell to her knees, retching and crying all at once. Within a moment however she was done and the ill feeling in her stomach had given way to steely determination: She would get to the bottom of this, and Joseph would be avenged.


End file.
